


Don't Tell Mom The Babysitter's Jack

by truth_renowned



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Children, F/M, Humor, Married Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 12:38:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7268569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truth_renowned/pseuds/truth_renowned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fic prompt from tumblr: “Peggy and Daniel’s babysitter backs out at the last moment and somehow Jack Thompson gets to take care of the kids.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Tell Mom The Babysitter's Jack

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @thecoldestginger for the fun prompt!

“Hi, honey. I’m home.”

Jack opened the door to the Sousa house and flopped down on the couch, a.k.a. his bed for the past week. Lucky for him, the Sousas had moved back to New York a few months ago for Marge’s new job, director of some new agency called S.H.I.E.L.D. Whatever. He was just glad he had a place to stay other than a cheap motel.

Linda had caught him cheating, again, and threw him out. Despite all of his sweet talk and charm, she refused to forgive him. He’d messed up, he knew, and it was going to take a lot of time and gifts to fix it. So much for the second marriage being easier.

“Sousa? You around?”

Did he have the house to himself? It’d be the first time, since the Sousa household also included two young kids. They, or at least Michael, called him Uncle Jack, only because he couldn't say ‘Mister Thompson’. He hadn't seen much of the kids, except in the mornings, as he usually came home after they were in bed. They were good kids; they weren’t annoying and didn't talk back, unlike their parents.

He walked into the kitchen and saw Sousa on the phone.

“It’s okay, Rose,” he said, nodding to Jack. “I understand. We’ll find someone else.”

He hung up the phone and smiled at Jack. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Why do I not like the sound of that?”

“Peg’s flight from Vienna was delayed. My flight to California is in two hours. The Jarvises are in California, and Rose is busy. I need someone to watch the kids for a few hours until Peggy gets here.”

“How few is ‘a few hours’?”

“Two, three tops.”

“I don’t know…”

Sousa looked at him, then shook his head with a laugh. “Yeah, you’re right. What was I thinking? You wouldn’t be able to handle them. I’ll try the next door neighbors.”

Jack bristled. “Wait, wait. You think I can’t handle a couple of kids?”

“It’s okay. Not everyone is cut out to babysit. Don’t worry about it.”

“Sousa, I’m a federal agent. I can take down a room of HYDRA operatives by myself. I think I can handle two little kids for a few hours.”

“I don’t know…”

“Go catch your flight, Dad. Besides, they know me. They know Uncle Jack is fun. We have fun every morning at breakfast.”

Sousa looked like he was considering it, then nodded. “Okay, Uncle Jack. Just… keep in mind that Michael is pretty active, even for a four-year-old. Beth will keep busy with her picture books. She may want you to read to her. She's already catching on to words at two years old. She got Peggy’s brains.”

“And her looks, thank God.”

“Ha, ha. I’ll feed them dinner before I leave. All you have to do is keep them out of trouble until Peggy gets home.”

“Piece of cake,” Jack said, brimming with confidence. “I’ve got this.”

\----------

He didn’t ‘got this.’

Not even close.

For the first hour, Michael and Beth were angels. Both were in the living room, with he and Michael playing with toy trucks and Beth looking at her books, occasionally asking Uncle Jack to read something to her. Everything was going swimmingly until Beth threw up, all over herself, the rug and her books. She started crying, and it all went downhill from there.

The screaming child was covered in vomit. How could something so little upchuck so much? Jack thought about taking her to the bathroom but instead carried her, as far away from his body as he could, into the kitchen. That way he was able to keep an eye on Michael, who seemed unfazed by his sister throwing up.

He needed to fill the sink, so he put Beth on the floor and ran the water. Beth latched onto his leg, getting vomit all over his pant leg and shoes.

“Shit. Beth, honey, please don’t do that.”

He lightly pushed her away from his leg, but she started screaming again.

“Hey, Mikey. Do you guys have bath soap?”

Michael, still on the living room floor, didn’t look up from his trucks. “Yeah.”

“Could you bring me some?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You haffa say ‘please’.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Fine. Could you _please_ bring me some bath soap and a towel?”

“Okay.”

Michael ran out of the living room and down the hall.

The sink was filled enough, so Jack picked up Beth and sat her on the counter. He started with the snaps on her little dress, which were difficult to open. He got one undone and it flung drops of vomit, some hitting his face.

“This is just great,” Jack said under his breath, wiping his cheek. He got the rest of the snaps undone without further flinging. He placed her in the water and she immediately started splashing around and giggling. She was kind of cute, he thought. Messy but cute.

Michael hadn't brought soap or a towel, so Jack yelled, “Hey, Mikey? Where are you?”

“Here,” came the muffled response.

“Where is ‘here’?

“Bafroom!”

Jack thought about going to get the boy, but he couldn't leave Beth in the sink alone. Mikey was fine; he was in the bathroom. How much trouble could he get into there?

Since he didn't have bath soap, Jack dumped some dish soap in the water and started stirring it around. Beth must have thought it was a game because started splashing again. His shirt and tie were soaked, as were the front of his trousers.

Using a dish rag, he cleaned the foulness from her, then lifted her out of the water and dried her off with another dish rag.

“Michael, could you come into… could you _please_ come into the kitchen?”

He heard a distant “okay,” then the pattering of little feet on the wood floor. He turned to see Michael without bath soap or a towel, but with bright red streaks on his face.

Jack blanched. “Mikey, what happened to you?” Was he bleeding? Sousa and Marge were going to kill him.

“I look like Mommy!” He held out an open lipstick tube, the red smashed almost flat. “See!”

Jack let out a sigh of relief. It was just makeup. He took the tube from the boy and sat it on the counter.

“That's just for your mommy. It's just for girls.”

“Mommy is a girl?”

“Yes, your mommy is a girl. Your daddy is a boy, and so am I and so are you. Boys don't wear makeup. Just girls do.”

“Like Bef?”

“Yes, like Beth.”

“She looks funny!”

Jack turned to look at Beth, and her face and chest were covered in red, the lipstick tube in her hand.

“Shit!”

He grabbed the lipstick from her and she started bawling. He ignored her cries and using the dish rag, quickly removed the lipstick from her.

Turning around to talk to Michael, he saw the boy was gone. Now where did he go? Jack picked up Beth, who immediately became fascinated with his tie clasp, and headed down the hall.

He stopped at the first door and pushed it open. It was the bathroom and it looked like a murder scene. Red streaks were everywhere: on the floor, the toilet, the sink, even the mirror. How had a four-year-old gotten up on the counter to get the mirror? Jack looked at the toilet and realized it was the perfect climbing tool. That kid is a monkey, he thought.

“Mikey, where are you?”

Jack left the bathroom and walked down the hall again. He was looking in the last room when he heard the front door slam. Thank goodness she was home!

He walked down the hall, stopping at the bathroom, turning out the light and closing the door. He'd break that to her later.

“Marge, tell your husband not to ask me…” Jack looked around the living room. No Peggy.

Maybe she was in the kitchen?

“Marge?”

Well, if she wasn't here, then who had opened the front…

“Shit!”

Jack ran as fast as he could with Beth on his hip. He flung the door open and bolted outside.

“Mikey!”

He looked up and down the block, across the street. No Mikey.

“Michael, where are you? Tell Uncle Jack where you are!”

Jack spent the next ten minutes looking everywhere for Michael. With each minute that passed, his heart raced faster. He'd lost one of the Sousa’s kids. They were going to kill him. No, first they would kick him out, then they would kill him.

Jack watched as a car approached and stopped in front of the house. It was a taxi, and Peggy stepped out of the back. The driver hopped out and grabbed her bags from the trunk. Jack tried to come up with a game plan as he watched her pay the driver and approach him.

He was a dead man.

She looked at him, her head tilting and brow furrowed.

“Welcome home, Marge.” He gave her his best smile.

“Jack, why are you all wet, and why is Beth missing her dress?” She lifted her from Jack’s arms. “And why does she smell like Ivory Snow dish soap?”

“Long story.”

“I have time,” Peggy said, her daughter in one arm and her free hand on her hip.

“Look, Peggy, I have to tell you--”

“Hi, Mommy!”

Both Peggy and Jack whipped their heads around and up at the sound.

Peggy looked back at Jack with a sour look on her face. “Why is my son in a tree? And what is all over his face?”

“Your lipstick. Another long story.” He looked up at the tree again. Michael didn't get too far, maybe seven feet. Still, for a four-year-old, it was impressive.

“Mikey,” Jack said, “I was calling your name. Why didn't you tell me where you were?”

“You dint say ‘please’.”

Jack bit his tongue to keep from screaming.

Peggy walked closer to the tree. “Michael, please get down from the tree.”

“But, Mommy…”

“Now, Michael Daniel!”

The boy easily climbed down and ran to Peggy, hugging her. “I missed you, Mommy. Daddy went to Camif… Cafor....”

“California,” Peggy said.

“Camifora. I know a new word. Uncle Jack told me.”

“Really? What is that, sweetie.”

“Shit!”

Beth giggled and said, “shit,” though it came out as “siiii”.

Peggy glared at Jack. “You taught my children how to curse?”

“I didn’t teach it to them! I may have said it once. Or twice.” Or more.

“Michael, sweetie, we don’t use that word. It’s a bad word.”

“But Uncle Jack said it.”

“Uncle Jack was wrong to use it.” She glared at Jack again. “Weren’t you, Uncle Jack?”

“Yes, I should not have used that word. I’m sorry. Don’t use it, Mikey.”

Peggy ruffled her son’s dark hair. “Please go to the hall closet and get a washcloth. I will be in to wipe your face in a few minutes.”

Jack watched Michael bound into the house. He turned back to Peggy, the expression on her face half-annoyance, half-amusement.

“Care to explain yourself, Jack?”

“It's your husband’s fault,” he said defensively. “He left a rookie in charge of the team.”

“Indeed he did.” She tipped her head to her luggage and started walking toward the house. Jack sighed, picked up the suitcases and followed her.

“Oh, Marge, about the bathroom…”


End file.
